Rules Of Nature
by Alan Spencer
Summary: Most thought the Fourth Holy Grail War had ended without a wish being granted due to its destruction, and they were sort of right. But a wish was granted. A wish to thrive, survive. Live. And Shirou Emiya became the recipient that would fulfill that wish.
1. Rebirth

**Chapter One**

 _Rebirth_

Shirou dragged himself forward. His whole body burned from fatigue, but he still advanced. It wasn't too hard. One foot in front of the other. As long as his heart was still beating, he could at least do that, even if he fell like he would break down and die from every step the took. His lugs burned; even breathing brought pain now. He could see it. He could clearly see it, even if his mind was in a haze. An image of what it lugs should be like by now. Two twisted, charred lumps of flesh about to fall off. The mental image made him want to puke his own guts out.

It was getting harder to pull another breath by the moment. His mind had been bleached white, and he felt a sort of pressure in his skull, like he could come unwrapped from the core of itself at any second now and float away like a tumbleweed in a high breeze. It was a nauseating sensation. Better to concentrate on his own body, though. Yes, that was better. Because... because he could still heard and see everything else and he didn't want it, he didn't want any of it.

The cries for help, the pain-filled screams. The mothers who begged him to take their children with them, while holding the babies up towards it. The people who tried to save others where they could have escaped, only to die a miserably death themselves. The people who saved others at the cost of their own life, only for the ones saved to die soon after the so called heroes drew their last breath. The people so badly burned that they could only stare at him with pleading eyes, even though he was only a child and he couldn't do anything. All those people who meaningless disappeared... the cries of those who had already disappear still resonated with it, mixing with the cries of the people who were dying right now.

People he knew.

The people he had grew up with.

He pushed those dark thoughts aside. Those were thoughts used to being pushed aside since this hell started, so they disappeared quickly. He sucked in a breath, just enough to allow him to move. All right. One foot in front of the other. Rise and repeat. It wasn't so hard. He could do this. He wasn't going to disappear here. It had to happen because he had already gone a long way, and all that effort would be lost if he died here. All the people he had let died to save himself would have died for nothing.

He gritted his teeth, and walked on. The radiance of the fire, and the smoke made it hard to see more that a few feet in front of him. Which a real problem, because the wreckage which looked like the remains of a battlefield from a movie was spread everywhere. It would only take tripping on a piece of wreckage to fall, and if he fell, there was no getting back up. He barely had the streght to walk at this pace, so getting up was out of the question.

This as a test both for the body and the mind, perhaps more so for the mind. He was only eight years old, but he understood that clearly. He didn't know how the fire had happened. He didn't know what happened to his father. Maybe he had heard him dying somewhere along the way; that wouldn't surprise him. He didn´t know what he had done to deserve this, either, but the anger at all of it had been throw away long ago so he could live on.

Before he had even realized what was happening, his mother had pushed him off the house to save him, while she remained inside as the house crumbled to dust, crushing her inside. He could have prevented that if only he had been a more mature child. But the hatred he felt towards himself had also been throw away; it was unnecessary at this point.

He had remained for a few minutes staring at the wreckage of his ruined home, thinking that he would see his mother emerging from the burning remains any second now, and take him by the hand and lead him out of there, because he was small, scared and he didn't know what to do and none of this was supposed to be happening. And when it became clear she wasn't going to appear, he hoped this was nothing but a dream. The pain of his lugs burning had dispelled that illusion, so hope had also been throw away.

Shirou had turned his back on the house and started walking through the fire, the wreckage, the dying people and the corpses, looking around numbly as the people he knew disappeared. Looking as the places he had grew up, the shops his mother set him to buy stuff, the park where he had played with his friends burned up, disappeared and soon even the ashes of what was left where picked up and throw away by the merciless, uncaring wind. Looking as everything he had ever know disappeared in front of his own eyes, telling him with certainty that it was over, that there was nothing he could do and he not longer had any place to return back to. So his own self had been discarded. If you took away a child's friends, home, family, there was nothing. His mind died so his body could survive.

He was only barely aware that his legs had started trembling more that usual. His vision was wavering, and the haze everything was covered in now made it felt distant, like a scene from a video game. The thought was somewhat funny. If he had the streght to spare for it, he would have laughed. His vision tumbled... no, he was tumbling down. He fell on the cold, hard ground, on his knees, to weak to do anything but gasp piteously. He couldn't die here. He knew he couldn't die here, but he didn't have the streght to stand. He crumbled down like a doll, and then he finally accepted the truth. He would die. It was a self evident truth. There was not way he could have survived such a hell, from the beginning. Hell wasn't a hell if there was even one survivor.

Black spots started to swim around his vision, and...

* * *

Something hidden deep within one of the many sharps scattered around this hellish scene stirred. It had no consciousness, nothing that would be called life. There was an impulse that was almost a law giving shape to the dark energy boiling withing it, the law of fulfilling a wish. Its only wish. The thing didn't understand the world like other people understood it; it didn't have the concept of world in its mind-if it could even be called a mind-to begin with. But it knew that there was something nearby, a container. A chance.

The energy moved across the now red ground from dried blood and the reflection from the burning fire, looking for the container which was still half alive. It enveloped the containers prone form, and seeped into it from the many wounds of his body, entering the deepens recesses of its body, and binding them together like two halves of a whole. Soon, it would be its.

Soon, its sole wish, which had burned inside of it from thousands and thousands of years, keept alive only because of its unending hate, would be fulfilled.

* * *

With a gasp, Shirou's eyes shot open. He couldn't allow himself to dream now. He knew that if he dreamed in this state he couldn't never wake up again. He didn't completely understand what he had been doing, but he needed to move. Now. With an effort, he gathered together the shards of his consciousness. He gritted his teeth, and... surprisingly, he got to his feet without much effort. It didn't even hurt all that much. There was some sort of dull throbbing, but aside from that, he felt surprisingly good.

He was really lucky; he had died during the few seconds he had lost there, on the ground, only half consciousness. He took a step forward. He wavered, somehow managed to straightened himself, and keep on walking. He felt a sudden, stab of pain in his chest that turned his mind white. A crack. He had heard... some sort of crack. He probably had broken something, but his body had not even spammed due to the pain. Like it wasn't even his own anymore.

He looked down at himself. There was a bad burn on his right arm, showing the pale white bone beneath. The limp hung uselessly. And, before his very eyes, the wound started to close. It hurt, it hurt a lot, but it really was closing. In a matter of his minutes, the skin was unmarred, like nothing had happened before. He swallowed the bile and the coppery blood in his throat. No, no. He couldn't get distracted. It was a hallucination from the heat. The healing, the burn, or both. He had to keep on walking while he still could.

He looked up, so he couldn't get distracted from such stupid things. He was eight years old, but even he knew that didn't happen in the real world. Fires like this weren't supposed to happen either, but really, that was a complete different thing. Something cracked beneath his feet. A piece of one of the houses. At least, he hoped it was that, and not... something else.

Shirou managed to advance for long, but eventually, even his renewed streght failed him. He fell on his back, unbalanced, without making a noise. He looked up to the grayed sky, only a half conscious. It was covered by clouds. It would rain soon, or maybe not. At this point, it couldn't really muster enough effort to care about it. Whatever the fire went out or not, the damage was already done. That it wouldn't reach other people because of it wouldn't erase the fact that so many people had disappeared here... and he would soon join them.

He reached out to the sky with a trembling, outstretched hand. There was no reason. He just thought the sky was a long way away. Even that last bit of streght failed him soon enough; his hand felt... and was grasped between two big, rough and calloused hands. Shirou stared numbly at the man in front of him, the tears of happiness running down his face like blood streaks and his wide, hope-filled smile. He didn't understand. He didn't understand how he could be so happy, just for seeing somebody alive in this red hell. The man wasn't even from here, and yet, that expression of his...

It was _repulsive_. There was no reason to be happy. This part of the city had burned down, taking its people with it. The earth had be salted, too, so to speak. Nothing would grow here anymore. But despite that, despite that the man should have damn well know that better that eight year old child, the man in front of him was smiling. Like his survival was in anyway a compensation for the tragedy that happened here. The man drew him into a hug.

And that moment,

 _(the starting penalty is five)_

Shirou felt... _something_. He couldn't have described the feeling with words. It was an impulse, some sort of tugging from somewhere inside of him. In his heart. He knew immediately even though he didn't know how he could know that the man was similar to him, in a fundamental way. That they had a connection that wouldn't be severed. He could heard voices, moaning something of which he could only catch the noises, and even that only confirmed it from him. It had to be this way.

He let his tired body relax, and drifted out of consciousness.


	2. Home

**Chapter Two**

 _Home_

Shirou opened his eyes. For several instants, everything was a hazy white blur as he looked up, but slowly his vision cleared up and he saw the white, sterile color of a hospital's ceiling and the monochrome light. He tore his eyes away from that light, and looked ahead. Ahead, not down. He was only a kid, and he had waked up recently, but he knew how things stood. He knew that it was useless to hope he would wake up and the fire would be only nightmare, so he had enough presence of mind to guess at his state. That didn't meant he wanted to look down and know for sure how bad a state he was in, though.

He took a deep breath. He didn't want to know, but even that small mercy was denied for him. He could felt. He could felt the harsh texture of the bandages, damp with sweat, sticking to his skin, all over his body. So, he knew, even though he didn't see anything, that he was in a bad state. Nothing hurt, but... if he peeled all the bandages off now, he would surely surely seem like some sort of anatomy doll. He remembered the wound in his right arm, the pale white bone showing like a Shinigami's scythe beneath his skin and the meat. He remembered how it had watched it grow back. That hadn't happened. Things like that didn't happen in the real world. But... the memory of it did make him wonder how close that hallucination had been to the extend of his real injures.

Eventually, a doctor came. A young man which looked rather lost, more a younger brother that a dependable older brother, with his shifty eyes and his far too large spectacles. He didn't know if it was because the doctor wasn't all that experienced, or merely that no doctor really got accustomed to his job. He didn't care, either. The doctor tried to play nice with him, putting on a fake smile that showed all his pearly teeth, trying to put him at ease. That he was making so much effort to do so only made him more nervous; Shirou had seen for himself the sick texture hidden beneath the skin of normality, so now he expected some sort of gut punch at every corner.

And he was right.

After about five minutes of pointless talk, the doctor told him that, on his area, he had been the only survivor. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He knew. He knew without needing to be told. There were kids, some more hurt that others though none were as bad as him, on the beds around him, but he didn't recognize any of them. Besides, he knew better that anybody else what hell had that been. Hell wasn't a hell if there was even one survivor, and there hadn't been any. No really. There couldn't be any survivor to such a thing. Still... it _stung_. He had never had any hope for there to be survivors for the begin, he didn't even had hope for himself to survive, but... the confirmation felt like a stab in the heart.

He didn't shed a single tear, though.

* * *

Shirou had apparently sleep through the morning, since the next time he saw another adult was when they brought food to the room, and the woman clearly said lunch was ready. He couldn't eat by himself. He had tried to lift his arms, even when they had started to wobble in front of his eyes, but they fell back on the hospital bed despite his best efforts, so the woman had to feed him. Nobody else was bad enough to have to be feed, so it could be said he was receiving special attention.

It was _humiliating_. He had somehow mustered enough streght to drag himself through that hell, even though he saw so many horrible things, and now he couldn't even lift his hands and pick up the damn chopsticks. A normal kid wouldn't probably see it that way, but he did, and that was all that mattered. Concepts like normality had ceased to have much meaning after the pain, seeing all those people disappear meaninglessly, watching the burning wreckage in where his mother had died, crushed, with wide, empty eyes.

And if that wasn't enough, the food was horrible. It didn't taste bad. If had tasted bad, it could have been at least called food. It simply didn't taste at all. He had read many books in which the hospital's food was said to be bad, and he had see it as well on the television, and he had always though that was a really mean generalization, but damn it if it wasn't horrible, absolutely disgusting. He felt like throwing up right for the first time he swallowed some of it, but he didn't. Food was food. He understood that. He needed food to survive, to heal, so he couldn't throw up.

* * *

At night, Shirou realized that he couldn't remember his parents names.

He tried, he chewed on those thoughts over and over as he turned on the hospital bed, but no matter how much he tried he drew a blank. It wasn't supposed to be this way; no child should forget his parents names. And yet, he had done it. Even their voices, their little gestures of affection, the way they smiled... all the important details were lost to him. Which he meant he had nothing. No parents, no home, no friends, nothing to come back to. Not even his own surname. He only had the name Shirou, and nothing else.

That night, he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

It didn't take many days for his bandages to be taken off, to the shock and awe of all the hospital's staff. Shirou stood in front of the bathroom mirror, naked, looking at his own reflection. The doctor, that same lost looking young man that visiting him periodically, had taken off the bandages himself, first thing in the morning. He had been greatly surprised, since he hadn't been scarred by the fire. He had said that the only damage he had suffered was due to inhaling the smoke, and even that damage had healed pretty quickly. That what happened to him could be considered a miracle.

That wasn't an miracle, he had thought. Even if he was telling the truth and he could live on normally, that didn't matter because he didn't have any reason to live no more. But of course, he didn't say any of it. There was no adult that would listen to a kid, because the knew better merrily because they had lived more, regardless if they were smart or not. He couldn't remember if his parents had listened to him or not, but he doubted it. Words couldn't change reality. And really, what could he do to change his situation, if he didn't even have the streght to save himself? So he didn't say anything.

There was no scars anywhere in his body, nor bad burns. He could clearly see that in his reflection, no matter how much he turned nor at what angle. Shirou had thought the doctor had said so only to not have to break the bad news to him-it didn't seem out of character judging from the his general attitude- so he had sneaked into the bathroom and took off his clothes right after the doctor had gone out of the door. But not, what he had said was the truth. It was like the fire had never happened to begin with. Well, at least externally. He couldn't see for himself if the doctor had told the truth about his lungs, so this had to do.

He quickly put on his clothes again, and went back to his own bed, like nothing had happened.

* * *

That man came about an hour later, the man that had saved him for the fire when he had lost even what little streght he had been able to muster. The same man he had felt a strange connection with him, in his half conscious, delirious state. To be honest, he had pretty much forgotten about it. He had thought about the man who saved him on the first day, and had waited for him to appear, thinking he was a relative of his he didn't know about or something like that. As the hours passed without sight of him, he had started to thing the whole encounter with the man had been an hallucination. And when he had realized he had total amnesia, all thoughts of his savior had floated away from his mind. But it seemed like he had been wrong, that the man wasn't an hallucination

When the man sat down

 _(the starting penalty is five)_

A strange, stray thought flew through his mind like an arrow. It didn't have meaning to him whatsoever, so it vanished as quickly as it came, like bubbles on the water's surface. The only thing he knew clearly, at this moment, was that he still felt that same strange sense of connection with the man in front of him. Didn't know why, either. Maybe it was merrily wishful-thinking. Shirou felt like he should say something first, but he really didn't feel like it.

"Hello. You must be Shirou-kun." the man said, just like that. Calling him by his first name on the first meeting was improper, but it wasn't like the man could call him by his surname. He didn't have one anymore to begin with. He sounded kind, but that kindness was almost suspicious for him. "I'll ask you directly. Which would you prefer? To go to an orphanage, or to be adopted by this man you've never seen before?"

The man had cried when seeing him alive amidst the fire, and now he was offering to adopt him. Just like that. Children were a weight to carry, and even though he was eight years old that only meant he would have to carry him for at least one decade. It didn't make sense that some stranger would offer that. Unless...

"Are..." Shirou started, then trailed off. His voice sounded... raucous. "Are you a relative of mine, or something?"

"Nah, just a stranger." that was pretty much a confirmation; he had not reason to lie about it. So... the man looked unreliable, a guy with not future. But it didn't really make a difference. At this point, Shirou could have taken any person that wanted him, no matter the reason. He didn't want to be dumped in an orphanage to rot, so he would accept.

"Okay." he answered, after a few seconds of thinking it over, nodding.

"I see, that's good. Get ready quickly, then. You should get used to your new place as fast as you can."

"I am ready." Shirou answered. He didn't have anything to pack; he had lost everything on the fire. He didn't even have more clothes that the ones he had got in here with, and they would be so burned as to be unusable, so he wasn't even thinking of asking the hospital staff to give them back.

"Uh, okay. Ah! I've forgot to mention something important. I'm a magus." the man said, in a serious, exaggerated tone.

Briefly, Shirou wondered if this was the part where he was supposed to laugh. He knew there was not such a thing as magic, but the man didn't have any reason to know he knew it. Kids were supposed to believe in magic, after all, and all sorts of other wonderful, utterly no-existing things like the essential goodness of people. Still, something told him the man was serious and that he was telling the truth. Some sort of _vibe_ from inside of himself. The craziest thing was that he wholeheartedly believed that feeling.

"That's awesome." he breathed out.

* * *

That was it. In a bit, Shirou became Emiya Shirou, and they were heading back to the man's home. His name was Emiya Kiritsugu; he had told him so, a few moments after getting out of the hospital room. Shirou didn't recognize the type of car his new father had. Unsurprisingly, since he didn't know a lot about cars, to say the least. Still, he knew enough to say that it was a western car. The man's name was Japanese, and his accent was clearly Japanese, too, so the car had to be matter of personal taste. Maybe. For all he knew, he was a western man who had lived enough in Japan to pick up the accent and had legally changed his name. He very much doubt that was so, but still. The point was that he really didn't know anything of note about his new father.

The ride of about a half hour was spend with Kiritsugu trying to converse with him, and telling him all sorts of stories. He answered him, and reacted appropriately, but it was a one sided conversation. It was only natural. They didn't knew each other for long, and that small time was certainly not enough to even guess if they could have something in common with each other. The conversation was only the prompting of awkward man who thought he was supposed to do this and that because he was a father now, and a boy who had stopped caring about anything, empty to the core.

Really, it was almost funny.

* * *

Shirou felt the car come to a stop. He fiddled with his seat belt for about a minute before he managed to unbuckle it, which was embarrassing, all the more so because Kiritsugu keep watching him with an amused gaze. Once unbuckled, he opened the door closest to him and jumped down. He took a step forward, and looked up.

The house was nothing special. It was not to big, nor too small, and it didn't have any distinguished features. It was only another typical Japanese house. Still, it was his home now, for all intents and purposes. He would live here for at least a decade. Probably for the rest of his life, since it would be more convenient that way. So maybe he would make a lot of memories here, and one day he would be able to say it was his home without lying through his teeth. Maybe.

"So," Kiritsugu drawled out. "How do you like your new home?"

"I like it a lot, old man." he answered, nodding with an energy he didn't really felt.

* * *

 _Night. He could see the half moon standing proud in the sky, amidst the sea of stars. His consciousness slowly returned to the forefront, telling him that there were more important things that the night sky. His hands were tied with thick ropes, and those ropes tied at the corners of a table. His feet were the same, too. He was completely defenseless, and people were surrounding him. All of them wielding knifes. Dimly, he recalled his last memory. Being attacked from behind with some blunt object._

 _He told to knock it off, that this sick joke had gone far enough, and when it became clear they all were serious, he begged them for a reason. They didn't give him one. They called him a devil, a monster, with almost reverent tone, and carved words of the many sins Zoroastrianism into his body with the knifes, cursing and hating him with glee as his anguished scream rose up into the night, to never be answered._

* * *

Shirou's eyes shot open, as he clawed at his chest like mad, his eyes wide and round and focused in a world almost an eternity away, feeling almost like he was suffocating. His whole body burned with pain, and he could see it. He could clearly see his naked chest crossed with words carved with knifes, the skin twisted, tore off, bleeding. It lasted an instant.

He sucked in a breath, and released it, trying to calm himself down. A nightmare; it was only a nightmare. The beating of his heart slowly returned to his normal beat. He didn't know why had he had such a nightmare now, when he didn't have nightmares at the hospital, but he didn't care, either. It had been _horrible_. Much, much worse that the fire. In the middle of that hell he could at least gather what little streght he had in his small body and drag himself forward, but there had been not way to fight off those mad people, and he didn't why they were doing this nor if it would end, since it seemed they were not going to kill him.

His teeth dung into his arm to stifle a whimper; he couldn't cry now. If he did, he would only be bothering Kiritsugu. He was eight years old already, and he damn well knew how to dealt with a stupid nightmare, not matter how vivid and real it had been, so much that he had almost felt that pain during a few instants after waking up.

One thing was for sure, though.

There was not way he could sleep tonight anymore.


	3. The First Steps

**Chapter Three**

 _The First Steps_

Shirou didn't get a wink of sleep again during that night. The pain that he had felt so vividly that it was almost a memory held him in constant fear he would felt it again if he closed his eyes, so he didn't even try to sleep. He tossed and turned in his sleep, chewing on the nightmare he had. The significance of it, why he would have one now five days after the fire happened. What could it meant that they had been carving the words of numerous sins according to Zoroastrianism on him, and yet he could clearly see it had not been his body. He sweated heavily, the pajamas sticking to his skin. It felt almost like the bandages that had gone away just yesterday, and that familiar feeling only increased his feelings of being trapped and helpless.

Despite that, the hours ticked away surprisingly quickly. Before he even noticed, he was already seeing the first rays of light of the day drift through the window of his new room. He winced at the bright light, feeling tired, sore, almost like he ran a marathon. He deserved at least a few hours of sleep, but there really was not helping it. Grumbling, he got out of the bed and into the bathroom. He washed his hands, his face and his teeth.

Kiritsugu walked into the bathroom a few moments later, looking only half-awake. In those dark gray pajamas, which were clearly a little too big for him, he looked even more unreliable that he had seemed at the hospital. For an instant, his expression was empty. When he laid his eyes on him, though, his face light up. That smile looked like the one at that time, in the fire.

The first thing out of his mouth was a 'good morning'. Shirou replied with the same, putting some fake enthusiasm behind his words. The second thing was if he had sleep well.

With a smile, he said that he had a nightmare, but aside from that he had sleep well.

* * *

That day he didn't go to school, of course. He was not registered yet, to begin with. Instead of going, he stayed at home and helped his new father with unpacking. It was boring, monotone task, but he did it with enthusiast he didn't have any need of faking. He was gland of having something to do, for once. In the hospital, he wasn't able to do anything and he only indication of the passage of time he had were the nurses, coming with the food for breakfast, lunch and dinner, so he had the perfect excuse to think about it. But now, out of the hospital, he could clearly see he was just as lost.

He should able something he was passionate about before, but those memories had burned away in that hell, too. Now, he really didn't have the desire to do much of anything. So even if it was boring, anything to do would be welcome, since it helped him to take his mind off bad things. Besides, he did it fast and well, and the satisfaction it brought was far for unwelcome.

* * *

The next day, he had to got school. Kiritsugu wasn't busy, so he brought him to school in his western car. The breakfast had been nice; plain rice, and a salad. As for his day, that he wasn't so sure about. He went inside without protest, to the classroom he had been assigned to. He had got in a few minutes before the bell would ring, signaling the students to come inside the classrooms and sit down for nearly the rest of the day, so he put his back against the wall in front of the door of his class and simply waited.

A few of the kids came to talk with him during those few minutes, curious because they had never seen him before. He answered their questions instead of only remaining silent, but he didn't make an effort to engage with them, so they soon got bored on the novelty and wandered off. He didn't care. This way was better for all of them.

When the bell rang, he was the first to get inside. Instead of taking a seat, he stood in front of the blackboard. The teacher came soon. When she prompted him, he wrote his name with clear, careful strokes as he gave a generic introduction. He knew how to write Shirou, obviously, and he had asked Kiritsugu how Emiya was written during the car ride. When he finished, he made a small bow. The students clapped like they were supposed to do, and he made his way to the seat he was assigned, next to a girl named Ami. She looked sort of cute. When he sat down, the girl introducing herself. He answered in kind. She didn' t say anything else to him from the rest of the day, and he didn't seek conversation from her, either. It would be pointless.

Kiritsugu was there when the bell rang for the last time of the day, and all the students packed the book and note of the last class and went outside, with his body held against the car. He was wearing the same clothes he had on when the fire happening. That black shirt, black pants, black shoes and a black cloak that could have looked cool, but his posture made him seem more shabby that anything else. They both got inside, and buckled their seat belts.

"So," the man said, with a bright smile as he started the engine. "How was your day?"

"It was good. The classes were not too hard, and my classmates weren't noisy."

"Did you make some friends? Or got your your eyes on a cute girl?" he almost seemed... hopeful. Yeah, that was the word. For a moment, Shirou considered lying, but soon realized that there was not point to that. Even if he did lie, such a flimsy lie would be discovered soon.

"No, I didn't make friends. And the girls... honestly, I didn't really look."

"Uh." he stanched the back of his with his left hand, sheepishly. "Any particular reason, Shirou-kun?"

"Not really, old man." he answered, thinking that the man must be thinking that he called him like that because he was still a bit of kid, despite everything that happened. But it wasn't like that. His father and mother were dead, and he could even remember them anymore, but that didn't meant that even the memory than their memory was there had to be erased. Calling Kiritsugu father, no matter how kind he was, seemed... wrong. At the same time, Kiritsugu was his father now. So he called him old man, because that was the best compromise he was able to make with himself. "Is just..."

"What?"

"Is just that... they aren't like me. They will never be. Even if I do get some friends, they won't understand me. What... What happened, back then. So what's the point?"

"...I see." Kiritsugu replied, after a pause of a few seconds. "I can see where are you coming from, Shirou-kun. Certainly, the perspectives of you and your classmates must be irreconcilable. Maybe. Nobody can really be sure. For all we know... anyway, I am getting sidetracked. What I wanted to say was that yeah, you are probably right, but I don't think it matters. Look, I'm not telling you to go make some friends. I just want you to be happy, and that's far for a requisite to it. But consider it, please. It could do you some good?"

"All right." Shirou lied through his teeth, and nodded. He would do so, but only to make the man happy. Despite of what he had said, it was clear he would more piece of mind if he got himself some friends, so he would.

The rest of the car ride was spend in placid silence, only occasionally broken by Kiritsugu's comments and Shirou's own rather dry answers.

* * *

While Shirou was wandering around the recess, a week after that conversation, he heard _it_. A snap, the sound of flesh against flesh, followed by a whimper of pain. Those sounds broke him out of his trance instantly. He looked around the corner, curious despite in himself, despite that he had a good idea of what was happening. This was a far out of corner of the playground, almost hidden. It could be said that it was the perfect spot for bullies. And when he looked, he saw that, indeed, he was right.

Four boys were surrounding a tiny, purple haired girl. They were laughing quietly, pulling and tugging the girl's hair, while she looked to the ground, piteously clutching her skirt.

"Sakura-chan really doesn't change." one of the boys drawled out, by far the biggest of the four. He should be a year older that the others, at the very least.

"Just like a doll." another acquiesced, without much heat behind his words.

She was merrily waiting for it to be over, occasionally flinching because of their insults. This was probably far for an uncommon occurrence for the poor girl. He didn't even know why he was surprised anymore; this was just how the world was. Hell was even beyond that fire, everywhere, slipping between the cracks of normality. And if somebody got cut with its sharp edges... well, more often that not, there wouldn't be nobody to wipe away the blood. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms.

 **KILL THEM**

That strange, foreign thought resounded in his head with the force of an explosion. He stumbled, and somehow managed to straighten himself.

 **KILL THEM BEFORE WE GET KILLED**

His vision narrowed, and in an instant the ring those boys formed around the world was the only thing left in his view. His teeth gritted so hard he clearly heard one of his back teeth crack. He didn't care. He suddenly knew what he had to do, even though he didn't knew how he came to that answer. Kill them; he had to do it. That girl was himself. He didn't know what that meant, but he knew it was the truth. If he didn't stop them now, he was going to get killed.

He _couldn't_ die.

He couldn't _never_ die.

He took a step forward; the hard ground crouched beneath his feet. The four _things_ , because that was all they were, noticed him and turned around, their insults dying in their lips. The girl didn't even react, much less look up. He keep on advancing stolidly, hated burning inside of him, flamed further by his survival instinct. His gaze was fixed on the large boy, who was...

 _he saw something them, something strange. Another room, far from here. A woman covered in bruises cowering in a corner, while a man spewed insults with bottle of beer in hand. Things like that woman were all the same, only work a damn for fucking. That she should have keep her mouth shut, if she didn't want to be given her 'medicine'. All the while while a kid watched on, in the kitchen, covering his hands with his mouths so he couldn't heard him crying, and trying to make him seem smaller, smaller that he was even when he looked like he was ten when he was actually twelve years old, something which had had only made his hatred at himself, at his drunkard of a father and at his stupid, useless mother..._

The vision disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving no trace. It didn't matter; none of what he see mattered. He was hurting him, so he had to disappear.

"Hey, you are Emiya-kun, right?" The boy who he had seen just a second ago hurting her spoke a bit nervously, acting like it was nothing. "W-what's your problem? We aren't doing nothing wrong. She is always looking at us with that vacant stare of hers, not deigning to even answer... she deserves it. This..." he spat on the ground. "This _doll_. I can't let anybody treat me like I don't exist."

Shirou could see that the rest of the boys were strung a long by the boy, who was visibly a year or two older that them... and himself, too. But he didn't care. He had to do what he had to do, and that wasn't going to change. He lifted his clenched right hand, and buried it in the older boy's face. A crack; his vision turned red for an instant. The force of the impact had throw the boy on the ground, even though he was about twice his size. Also, his nose was broken. He could see the shape was wrong, and the blood flowing from the nostrils. He felt himself smile.

The others, seeing their thug of a leader on the ground, stood looking at the scene completely frozen by indecision and fear. Shirou descended on him, his teeth bared in a savage smile. Stranding him, he hit the older boy's unprotected head with his fists. There was a crack every time his attacks landed cleanly; he didn't care. He didn't care about the pain filled scream that followed from the older boy, either.

 **KILL HIM**

"S-stop this, for..." he dared to plead with him at this point, while clumsily trying to protect his head, but another hit quickly cut him off. What followed was only an inarticulate scream of pure _agony_.

 **KILL HIM KILL THEM ALL**

"Die, just fucking die, you damned pig!" Shirou roared out, in a voice that was obviously not his own. A voice of an older man, a voice from almost an eternity ago. "Animals like you don't deserve anything else! Don't ever get back up!"

The other three boys let out shrill screams, and ran for it. He didn't care. The one below was the one who had started this, so if he died here the biggest problem would be cut off. He could always peruse the rest later, and finish what he had started. But for now...

 **KILL THEM YOU HAVE TO KILL THEM ALL**

he had to finish this. One last hit, at the boy let out a gasp. His head fell back on the ground. His eyes were closed. He didn't know if he was dead or not, but it did matter. The girl. Himself. That came first. He stood up, only vaguely aware that his knuckles hurt like hell. He looked at the girl, and found her looking at him, with a strange light in her eyes. Not apathy, nor disgust, but almost... _wonder_. Shirou took a step forward, and extended his hand towards her with a wide smile.

"It's all right, don't worry." he said to her, with that same voice which wasn't his voice. "Nobody will hurt me. I will not die. I will never die." he blabbered, not entirely sure of what he was saying, where he was, how things had come to this point or if this was real to begin with. "I...I won't allow it."

His vision started to spin, and he fell on the ground without making a noise. His consciousness went out an instant later.


End file.
